In the Caucasus, Encountering a 'Three-Dimensional History Textbook'

Before traveling to Georgia, I had already visited over ten European countries and much of Southeast Asia. I was accustomed to the crowds at the Eiffel Tower in Paris and the grandeur of the Colosseum in Rome, and had been enchanted by the fireworks of Chiang Mai and the refinement of Tokyo. When I saw Chronicle of Georgia recommended on Xiaohongshu, I initially thought it was just another 'off-the-beaten-path photo spot.' It wasn't until I stood beneath those 16 bronze pillars that I understood why it occupies a unique place among all the historical sites I've visited.

As a Chinese tourist who prefers hidden gems and has a passion for history, Georgia still hits all my sweet spots: visa-free travel with no hassle, much simpler than European Schengen countries, airfare prices only half of what you'd pay to France or Italy, and incredibly low costs—a glass of local wine costs just over ten yuan, a proper local meal just a few dozen yuan. Compared to the commercialization of popular European destinations, there are no overwhelming tour groups here, no aggressive vendors, just peaceful appreciation of scenery and history. This sense of relaxation is something I never experienced in London or Paris.

When I climbed the hill and saw the monument, I was momentarily stunned. The 35-meter-tall bronze pillars pierced the sky, sunlight dancing across them, the relief patterns becoming clear—stories of Noah's Ark, medieval kings being crowned, locals making wine and celebrating festivals, like a three-dimensional history book laid open. I've seen many historical monuments: Egypt's pyramids are imposing yet distant, Greece's temples are fragmented yet detached, but this monument has both historical weight and living warmth. I couldn't help but photograph the reliefs while researching, only to discover that Georgia is the world's oldest wine-producing region, with 8,000 years of qvevri winemaking history that somehow resonates with China's agricultural civilization. Compared to the commercialized châteaux of Bordeaux, the winemaking culture here feels more pure. In that moment I realized that the root of different civilizations is the same love for life, regardless of geography or language.

The biggest surprise was that beside the monument lies Tbilisi Sea, with the Caucasus Mountains visible in the distance. This combination of culture and nature has more historical depth than the alpine lakes I saw in Switzerland, more vastness than the historical sites I've visited in China. Every casual shot is an atmospheric masterpiece requiring no editing. I found several vantage points, shooting from panoramic views to relief close-ups, even using a drone to capture the entire hilltop. When I posted on social media, everyone asked where this hidden European gem was. No one imagined that this place blending Eastern warmth with Western romance is Georgia—a Eurasian crossroads too often overlooked.

After visiting the monument, I went directly to a nearby winery, drinking local qvevri wine while remembering the winemaking scenes I saw in the reliefs, suddenly feeling like I was traveling through history. I've tasted Bordeaux from France and Tuscany from Italy, but only Georgian qvevri wine moved me—no complex techniques, just the most authentic aroma of grapes. Like this monument, it's not deliberate or showy, yet possesses sufficient attraction. For me, this isn't just a photo spot, but a place where I can quietly understand Caucasian civilization. Compared to crowded tourist hotspots, this kind of niche, culturally rich place that can provide such happiness is the true meaning of my international travels.